Ra Granda post!
Saturday 00:51 a.m.
My grandfather came to Scotland from Rosharkin (sic) in Northern Ireland, I think in 1906. He told me once that he had five brothers. "They were all big men and they're all dead now." My grandfather had a pronounced northern Irish accent. I asked him once what he thought of the guy who ran Northern Ireland at the time, called O'Neill; maybe Captain, or Colonel, or General Above Us All O'Neill. He said: That basturn O'Neill.
So I knew my grandfather from going to his house when my old dear, his daughter, took us there. A couple of times, I played him at dominoes. Once he'd played dominoes with proper players and I could not compete with him on the dominoes, as he sat on the chair and spat into the newspaper beside him. He'd been a miner, and they spat the dust into the newspapers beside their seats in those days.
I do not know much about my grandfather, but he was illiterate when he came to Scotland to work in the pits in Mossend, Bellshill and those places around. He had 15 children. Ten of them in Mossend, in the miner's rows, died. Some of these children had the names of the ones who had died before. There were two Peters. Neither survived.
I think during the General Strike of 1926, my granda went back to Ireland to work in the fields. He sent the money back. His wife gave it away to folk who were getting starved back to work.
The evil bourgeois will all die for this. And rot in hell. Of course, they will. Because God is great. And you can't do bad things, and just walk away.
I don't know much about my granda because they don't say. These Irish basturns are very tight lipped. But his friend was a guy called Baird, who was as orange as the Boyne. Him and Sammy Baird. At times of trouble. When folk are sick.
There's nothing about this time that I like. Just shoot me now!
1:30 a.m.
What I was trying to say was that my granda cured folk. My maw says he cured them of bone things. He rubbed their bones and said something, and maybe that helped. I don't see how. It's what the Irishman in green tweeds was asking my maw about, and making the hound dog take speech. Has he passed it on?
Suggestion. They had no doctors, and they had no money. Being able to cure folk of bone things would be wonderful. Imagine folk coming to your door and asking to be cured? The Medicine Buddha juju book I'm reading just now might be about that. But it was written by the same boy who wrote the book I read, called Essentials of Mahamudra, in the summertime. What a wonderful book! How fortunate I am to have this book fall into my hands just now!
Eric, quite a few beers this evening, but not like it is when you've got a chum to drink with! (Schneider Weisse and Erdinger.)
My grandfather came to Scotland from Rosharkin (sic) in Northern Ireland, I think in 1906. He told me once that he had five brothers. "They were all big men and they're all dead now." My grandfather had a pronounced northern Irish accent. I asked him once what he thought of the guy who ran Northern Ireland at the time, called O'Neill; maybe Captain, or Colonel, or General Above Us All O'Neill. He said: That basturn O'Neill.
So I knew my grandfather from going to his house when my old dear, his daughter, took us there. A couple of times, I played him at dominoes. Once he'd played dominoes with proper players and I could not compete with him on the dominoes, as he sat on the chair and spat into the newspaper beside him. He'd been a miner, and they spat the dust into the newspapers beside their seats in those days.
I do not know much about my grandfather, but he was illiterate when he came to Scotland to work in the pits in Mossend, Bellshill and those places around. He had 15 children. Ten of them in Mossend, in the miner's rows, died. Some of these children had the names of the ones who had died before. There were two Peters. Neither survived.
I think during the General Strike of 1926, my granda went back to Ireland to work in the fields. He sent the money back. His wife gave it away to folk who were getting starved back to work.
The evil bourgeois will all die for this. And rot in hell. Of course, they will. Because God is great. And you can't do bad things, and just walk away.
I don't know much about my granda because they don't say. These Irish basturns are very tight lipped. But his friend was a guy called Baird, who was as orange as the Boyne. Him and Sammy Baird. At times of trouble. When folk are sick.
There's nothing about this time that I like. Just shoot me now!
1:30 a.m.
What I was trying to say was that my granda cured folk. My maw says he cured them of bone things. He rubbed their bones and said something, and maybe that helped. I don't see how. It's what the Irishman in green tweeds was asking my maw about, and making the hound dog take speech. Has he passed it on?
Suggestion. They had no doctors, and they had no money. Being able to cure folk of bone things would be wonderful. Imagine folk coming to your door and asking to be cured? The Medicine Buddha juju book I'm reading just now might be about that. But it was written by the same boy who wrote the book I read, called Essentials of Mahamudra, in the summertime. What a wonderful book! How fortunate I am to have this book fall into my hands just now!
Eric, quite a few beers this evening, but not like it is when you've got a chum to drink with! (Schneider Weisse and Erdinger.)
posted by Hotboy at 12:56 AM
6 Comments:
Question 1 - Was he a 7th son?
Question 2 - Were you? That would explain your natural gift for the pet bereavement therapy.
My old man's side came from Ireland, and I sometimes spit into the newspaper while I'm reading it. Not the Herald, but the Scotsman's fair game.
Which one was the viking?
Adolf! Heil! No, he wasn't a 7th son. Neither was I. I was number four son. My father's side of the family was Scottish and Northern Irish, so there were vikings all over! Hope this helps! Hotboy
Thank God for alcohol, Eric, although I will have to give up all the wonderful beers quite soon! Your wonderful wife's relative sounds great. So there is a shape in life. The parabola. When it's not so good, maybe drinking yourself to death might be alright. You maybe just need sound blockers and a place to be on your own and do it. I hate the expectation in this time of year. But can one sit in the middle of the vast forests of Canada and just sit there? That's what I'd like to do. If I couldn't do that, I'd like to sit in the vast Canadian forests, and just sit there. The alternative is the alternative. You are a very fortunate creature of course, Eric. So you are! Hotboy
Erid: Molson Canadian beer. I'll find it! Hotboy
Good granda story. Apparently, in living memory there've been a spate of arson attacks on Christian cathedrals by Scandinavian neo-Vikings. While regretting the architectural damage, at this time of the year the idea isn't entirely distasteful.
Ion: Those neo-vikings! They sound a bit like neo-nazis. Is Kirk Douglas one of their saints? Hotboy
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